


thoughtless

by joeri



Category: VAZZROCK, ツキウタ。 | Tsukiuta.
Genre: Developing Relationship, Drunk Sex, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, if no one else is gonna write for vazzrock i fucking will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 14:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19211788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joeri/pseuds/joeri
Summary: ayumu and reiji continue their post-concert ritual: drinks and horseplay.ayumu finds it a bit hard to get out of his head this time.





	thoughtless

**Author's Note:**

> ive been really sick lately and i just started my new job which is 30 hours a week (gagging noises) so im taking updates slow as they go. i had this in my drafts for a while and decided to finish it up
> 
> am i really writing borderline porn _already_ for a pairing that has 0 content already? yeah lol.

Ayumu sips his wine.

The planes of Reiji’s body fit like a square peg in a round hole as he stands in the moon’s spotlight. These thoughts flood Ayumu’s consciousness and he rethinks coming to join the other man upon the balcony of the borrowed room. The air outside is crisp. It billows past, threatening to sweep up Reiji’s coat hung over the railing and leave it strewn across all of Tokyo beneath them. It’s not a second sooner that Ayumu realizes something strange: Reiji’s something less magic, less rapturous and imposing without the cover of his coat. It will dangle from his shoulders effortlessly, protectively.

It pisses Ayumu off. How does it stay in place? Pins? Buttons? Magnets?

Reiji breathes smoke into the atmosphere and turns to spot Ayumu staring. Flicking his cigarette onto the edge, Reiji smirks greyly.

“Ah, caught me,” he says. “Nasty habit.”

Ayumu thinks he’s serious by the way he puts it out, scrubs its head against the railing until it no longer burns and chucks it into the circulating air. Not like Ayumu is a fan that it’s going to litter or land on someone’s head, but wasted money is wasted money.

“Is that so? I wonder about that.” Ayumu asks, unconvinced this isn’t as often of a vice as Reiji’d like him to think.

Twisting around, Reiji props his elbows up against the balcony rail and shoots Ayumu the most helplessly sultry glance, because he’ll die if Ayumu doesn’t cross the threshold over to him and stop this song and dance.

True, they’ve both been drinking, flirting, _teasing_ —poking fun at each other all night since their concert had ended. Began with some light hearted banter between whose feet were worse on the stage tonight, turned worse when Reiji got a bit handsy (as Amaha Reiji’s are wont to do), spiralled out of control when liquor was involved.

Ayumu does not doubt but for a second that Reiji booked them a room with a bar in it with the forethought.

Stood before Reiji, glass of red wine in hand, Ayumu takes measured steps—each move toward Reiji was educated and rehearsed, as practiced as their careers. A sip and a step, because he can’t do one without the other.

“Yeah,” Reiji confirms. “Don’t do it often, obviously. I’d never jeopardize losing this thing.”

“Doing it at all isn’t healthy,” remarks Ayumu.

“Neither is—” He gestures to them both in a noncommittal gesture. “This.”

“This?” Ayumu inquires.

“Mhm.” Bending down, Reiji yanks up the bottle he’d set down upon the balcony and Ayumu’s eyes zoom in on it to find that _that’s_ where the rest of the wine had gone. The swish of the liquor inside has a different pitch as before. He squints at how much is digested now, how well Reiji’s lips fit perfect around the top of the bottle.

The sight alone is making mush out of Ayumu.

Popping his hip, Reiji makes a great scene of sucking down a solid bit of wine, letting its complex flavor soak his tongue and throat, and although it’s the same as what Ayumu is drinking, Ayumu wants to know how it tastes in Reiji’s mouth—how the other man’s skin and saliva alter the flavor profile, transform it into something Ayumu can get further fucked up on.

Because they weren’t catching a close one already, canoodling around while working together. What had happened to the professionalism they both prided themselves on? Perhaps it was the discovery that Reiji was every bit his image and Ayumu could have it whenever he wanted it.

His throat bobbed at the knowledge that he really could and he did, _most of the time._

Reiji exhales a powerful, satisfied sigh and his whole body shivers, slides beautifully along the rail until he’s rounding it and moving back toward the glass double doors leading out. This is where Ayumu stands still.

“Drinking together, sharing a bed together. You know what they say about fooling around with your bandmates, right?” he purrs, knowing it will infuriate Ayumu.

And it does, because Ayumu for all of his desire (what with it being so effortlessly _quenched_ and all), cannot possibly admit to these things without the song and dance. It’s how the game is played, but Reiji’s a cruel one and can’t just let him have it for free.

“We’re not—Reiji, this room has two beds.”

And with how much indignance drips from Ayumu’s voice, you’d never guess that he and Reiji both had piled all their luggage onto one of the beds. It’s really quite staged without thought put to it. Drenching the other man in a dirty, knowing stare, Reiji bats his eyes and points the liquor bottle Ayumu’s way.

“And that just makes it worse,” he says, throat hoarse enough to shake every fruit between Ayumu’s legs loose.

“Ugh!”

Ayumu does not hide his discontent, but goes about disguising how badly he wants to be thrown against the wall with a long, drawn out guzzle of wine, because Reiji is nothing if not privy to it. He just has to get to the point of no return, where the intoxication takes over and Ayumu can no longer feel shame or anxiety. He hopes Reiji won’t mind. He’s never seemed to, but… 

The thought lingers: does it bother him?

They’ve both been imbibing like the wind since they made contact here and unbuttoned their shirts. Surely they’ve done this enough times that it does not offend.

But at the end of the day, it might. Ayumu’s head fogs over. Fuck, _fuck_. What if it does?

Breaking from the bottle to _breathe_ if nothing else, Ayumu lets out a blurted, “what’s the occasion, anyway?”

“Occasion?”

“The wine?” Ayumu jostles the bottle, much different in tone this time too. Another quarter gone.

“Oh, uh.” Reiji seems to fumble until he gives a shrug that Ayumu’s somehow not expecting. “Does it need one?”

“I’m—” Ayumu pauses, something trying to leap out of his throat. “ _delighted_ to know you just… get plastered whenever you please for no reason, and that you’ve dragged me down to your level.”

“Oh, minette,” coos Reiji. “No one forced you to pick that up with me,” he says closing the distance.

Because the doors leading out to the balcony are still so open wide, because the sky is lingering, glittering outside of them, and because the wind is still stealing schoolyard kisses at his arms and cheeks, Ayumu loses sight somehow of how close Reiji’s gotten and makes no moves to flinch away when the much taller man’s craning down to pluck up his face and kiss it so slow it makes his heart a thunderstorm in comparison. He almost takes no notice at all and then it’s there.

In more ways than one, Amaha Reiji was not there until he was and the transition was so inexorable, Ayumu is not sure how he’s supposed to handle that but Reiji’s smoothing the prints of his fingers into every crevice of his painstakingly dry cleaned suit jacket and reminding him of the sweat that’s been poured into it all night long. He tugs it from Ayumu’s shoulders and Ayumu trembles when he thinks the bottle’s slipping from his hands before Reiji swipes it.

Every movement of Reiji’s is so suave, a dance, a tantalizing seduction, but the bottle thunks against the floor a bit too harshly and Ayumu can tell that he’s every bit as impassioned as he himself is and all thought and reason plops out of his head in time with his legs wrapping tight around Reiji’s waist.

And he’s up. Ayumu feels his body lift and he Reiji’s got him in tow. Everything spins and moves too fast, too slow, and when his back meets the bed the entire room’s been tilted skew. His world flips and his stomach does too.

“C’mon, ‘s’get you out of these clothes,” mouths Reiji into the conch of his ear and Ayumu shudders with a full body fire, turning his head to the side where Reiji has access to kiss and suck all up and down his throat… only he doesn’t.

Laughing in his mouth to himself more than possibly at Ayumu, fondly maybe but to Ayumu’s alcohol-addled brain, _fiendishly_ , Reiji says curtly, “well, don’t _you_ know what you want.”

“Be quiet,” Ayumu seethes.

“You hate me so much,” Reiji jabs with a simper, licking up the lobe of his ear and tugging with a playful bite, and for some reason Ayumu stirs.

“I don’t.”

Reiji hums, kissing down Ayumu’s jugular. “Not even a little?”

Shielding his eyes with his arm, Ayumu writhes uncomfortably in the warmth growing in the middle of them.

“You don’t know anything if we’re here and you think that.” It’s said between huffs of air, where Reiji disrobes him and finds new locations for his thumbs and fingers to knead, but Ayumu gets it out as well as he can manage. His chest wheezes. Reiji takes him by the cheeks with one hand and kisses him deep.

Tongue in cheek, teeth on teeth, when Reiji lets go he says, “you’re right, I don’t know anything.”

As he unbuttons his own shirt, leaning back on the bed to toss it to the wayside, Ayumu keeps both eyes closed and only listens in to the sound of his fruity voice leading him to the conclusion he’s searching for. There’s a rustle of clothes being tossed and then Reiji’s body is flush against him (cotton boxers with wet patch) and Ayumu coughs up a gasp he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

_God, he’s so big and waiting._

Ayumu contemplates this hazily, that he made Reiji this way. Chills ripple through him and he makes a roll of his body, involuntary as Reiji says, “that’s why I need you to open your mouth and tell me.”

Trying to come up with a coherent thought is hard. Ayumu doesn’t want to anymore. A puppet with the strings cut, he wants to be carried and shoved along. He can think about it later. Ayumu makes this decision before Reiji’s tugging his upraised arm from over his head and forcing eye contact between them.

Both of Reiji’s amber eyes are so, so close to his own and he’s dying to escape the question that follows their torturous gaze.

“Tell me what you want, Ayumu.”

Freezing up, enamored with how breathtaking he looks when he really means something, when he speaks with his whole chest, Ayumu stammers.

“In w-what way?”

“Right now,” Reiji insists in a way that does not clarify anything for him.

“Do… you mean, what I want you to do with me, sexually or—” The way Reiji’s squinting has Ayumu’s face filling with blood. “I-I don’t understand the question. I don’t think I can talk about this right now.”

“What the heck are you talking about?”

Ayumu closes his eyes. Fuck, Reiji’s moments away from fucking him and suddenly Ayumu’s assuming he wanted to talk about their ‘relationship.’

“Ah,” Ayumu breathes. “It’s just… the way the conversation was headed, I thought we were about to discuss something more serious and not just, where do I want your…” Ayumu swallows, “dick to go.”

In a manner of seconds, Reiji’s cheeks turn a peachy color that Ayumu’s scarcely beheld and it makes some bronze part of him feel gold and shiny. Taking advantage of the way Reiji’s eyebrows have jumped into his hair, Ayumu steals back his composure and levels an even stare (as well as he can drunkly manage, which is still a decent amount.)

“What?”

Reiji laughs and it’s a good chocolaty sound. “You’ve just never said it so bluntly. I was surprised.”

Oh, well. Ayumu will admit, he didn’t _like_ saying it, but if he voices that he knows that Reiji won’t let it go, so he puppeteers their conversation back on course.

“I thought you might want to talk about how we drink and do this… how we drink _to_ do this, what it’s called or what my feelings for you are.” Ayumu sighs. “I know you think I hate you.”

It isn’t until Reiji interrupts that Ayumu realizes that he’s had his eyes closed again. He does this often when tipsy. He opens them to find Reiji the sole constant in a warbling, warping room around him. He’s an anchor. He’s new. He says, “I was just poking fun. You don’t seem the type to have sex with people you _actually_ don’t like.”

He can read his mind, Ayumu thinks.

Reiji’s got his tie in his hand and he’s balling it up into something undignified and rubbishy.

“You’re thinking too much. You need to think less. Let me do this for you.” And he shoves the cloth in Ayumu’s mouth like a gift.

Like it belongs there. Like it’s the nicest thing he could’ve done and Ayumu’s hands aren’t even bound and this isn’t even a thing they’ve talked about. Ayumu’s eyes slope down the slide of his nose fruitlessly and he muffles something garbled into the green. Ayumu could reach in and tug it out at any time. Just remove it and speak. Continue the conversation. Be thoughtful.

Reiji makes him thoughtless, slides his hands and fingers around and inside of him and render him speechless, _thoughtless._

Ayumu doesn’t remember when he comes the first time or when Reiji finally blesses him with the penetration he requires, only that swiftly as he always is, he does.

Hands digging canyons across Amaha Reiji’s back, curled up like a pretzel, Ayumu comes again and again and does not say a single word.

It feels addictive. What Reiji does to him, making a weeping mess of him, it’s addictive and soon he won’t even need to drink for it.


End file.
